I just have a gut feeling I need to keep my mouth shut about it for now. At least until I know more.
The drive up in the white-out conditions takes two and a half hours. The roads are full of snow and assholes who can’t drive in it. I pull into a long winding driveway, aggravated and angry, until I catch a glimpse of a scene from a goddamn wintery landscaped painting.
What the fuck?
Tall evergreen trees powdered with snow surround a small, picturesque log cabin. A stack of wood is piled up against one of its sides and a wreath of green and red garland hangs from the front door. A soft golden glow streams out from an enormous front window frosted in the corners like some small holiday decoration. What the fuck did my father do here? Why did he have this and why did he leave it to me? Why couldn’t he have just left this to my mother or Chloe?
I climb out of the warmth of the car to the blanketed silence of the snow.
My gut twists. How could one man have so many secrets? Disinheriting an entire family and having a secret house in the mountains? Was this just a place he would feel he could get away to?
I trod through the drifts and stand on the front porch of the cabin, the bottoms of my pant legs heavy with snow. A movement just behind the windowpane catches my attention. Is there someone inside?
Did he have this place staffed? Is that who could be inside?
I rub the sleeve of my coat over the foggy window making a circle to peek through. On a light gray couch sits a woman with long, champagne-colored hair. It spills in wild curls and waves over her shoulders as she hangs her face in her hands.
Her shoulders tremble lightly.
It looks like she might be crying.
When she lifts her head, something moves deep inside my chest. She looks so familiar. I know this woman. She leans forward, putting her hands over her face and wipes away the wetness that glistens on her cheeks. It looks like her world is falling apart. My heart races in my chest. Why does this woman look so familiar?
When her eyes flash forward, the color blue is so striking I jump away from the window and press myself against the cold wood surface of the house.
Those blue eyes.
My heart aches sharply.
I remember those eyes. My entire teenage life was spent dreaming about those eyes and how they looked at me.
It’s fucking Claire Radcliffe.
Anger and rage explode through my veins. What the fuck is Claire Radcliffe doing in my father’s secret cabin?
Chapter 4
Claire
The inside of the cabin is dead silent, but the howling winds coming from outside grate at my ears. The lights flicker and zap. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray the storm stays outside. It’s a silly thought, I know. I’m safe inside, of course I am—let the wind scream all it wants. I’m pretty sure Silas Montgomery built his mistress a fortified stronghold to defend her from all of nature’s tantrums up here on this mountain. Hell, the open beams that cross the ceiling held her dead weight and heavy sins just fine.
God, my thoughts are too morbid.
I’m just angry and still in shock. I can’t believe—no, I don’t want to believe—the two of them were here together hiding from everyone. My tears aren’t from sadness, they’re straight up rage and bitterness. How could she have done this? Again? I clench my phone in my hands as it buzzes once more. Now she’s got me involved, and once again I’m going to get hurt because of her thoughtless actions. What was it about Silas Montgomery that made that woman so stupid? How could any man be worth giving up everything in your life for? It’s incomprehensible to me. It’s downright pathetic.
A sharp pounding bursts against the door. The suddenness of it jars me, bolting me off the couch. Adrenaline snaps in sparks across my chest. I back away, my calves hitting into the hard edge of the coffee table.
Maybe it’s Ms. Lowell and she couldn’t get her car out of here. But wouldn’t she have the keys to this place? So, it couldn’t be her clobbering at the door.
Maybe it’s the crazy person who’s trying to blackmail me.
I lurch forward and move toward the door, my heart thumping hard the whole way. If it’s the blackmailing text idiot, he or she is going to be in for a real surprise when I let loose my crazy on him.
I rush past the fireplace and try to grab for the fire poker leaning against the stones, but the door explodes open and a gust of icy snow and wind stops me dead in my tracks. Standing in the middle of the open doorway, against the backdrop of a white-out blizzard, is none other than Vaughn Montgomery. I never make it to the fire poker—I’m like a wild animal caught in headlights. A gust of frigid air whips past him and rips goose bumps up my arms.
“What are you doing in my father’s cabin?” he growls.
Shit. I suck back in a hard breath and back away. He’s enormous. Flushed cheeks and clenched teeth. The tendons in his jaw tense and coil. His once-beautiful bright eyes narrow and give off a steely glint of pure hate. Fat flakes of snow melt and drip from his hair, streaming down his cheeks.
“Well?” he snaps. He kicks his leg back and slams the door shut behind him, cutting us off from the outside. Like a savage, he practically tears his coat down his arms, balls it up in his huge fists and throws it up against a wall.
Jesus, this is not the same sweet boy I knew years ago. Well, screw him. He doesn’t get to come in here while I’m dealing with cleaning out my dead mother’s stuff and yell at me. I fold my arms across my chest and give him a hard look. There is no way I’m going to let him talk to me like this.
He steps forward, narrowing his eyes into thin slits. “I asked you what—”
“Who are you?” I ask, harshly.
There’s a slight flinch back to my question, but he recovers quicker than I’d like him to. Because of course he does. Rich, white boys always get the upper hand. “I highly doubt you’d forget who you lost your virginity to, unless all us men just blur together for you Radcliffe women after a while.”
Heat flashes through my body and I swear my scalp feels like it’s tightening and crawling off my head at the same time. “Nope, you must have just been extremely forgettable, I suppose.” I sneak a peek at the window. How bad would going down a mountain in the snow with my car be right now? Probably not as dangerous as staying in here trying not to claw Vaughn Montgomery’s stupid smirk off. And that’s what he was doing, smirking at me. Smirking like he didn’t believe he was easily forgettable to lose my virginity to. It wasn’t, but it was useless even thinking about the issue.
I thought it hurt before, when I realized all those years ago that I’d never be able to see the Montgomerys again, but this is worse. Seeing him and hearing his voice, his harsh tone, it’s making my insides sore. Why does he hate me so much? I’m not the one that did anything wrong.
I could pretend I’m not me. I could just ignore the giant mammoth of a man snarling in the middle of the room and finish packing up my mother’s belongings and be finally done with the Montgomery family once and for all. I clear my throat and make my way over to the dining room table and the small box of my mother’s things. It always enraged him to be ignored.
I can feel his eyes on me, they heat my skin and make me wish I could step out of myself and just disappear. He’s glaring at me, trying to intimidate me, and there’s no way in hell that’s going to work for him. There was a time, long ago, when I would have cared about his feelings and his thoughts, but no more. I’m completely finished with anything that have to do with the Montgomerys. I hate my mother for this, and the thought of her—of hating her—makes tears prick at my eyes. I need to get out of here. I feel like I can’t breathe. God, why did she have to go and do this?